Chapter 29 – The Weight of Knowledge
The Null-Stone sat upon the table in their quarters, a perfect sphere of non-light. It did not reflect the flickering flames of the hearth; it consumed them, creating a small, unsettling void in the center of the room. The air around it was unnaturally cold and still. Caria, her brow furrowed in concentration, completed a final diagnostic spell. The silver light from her palm did not touch the stone but seemed to bend away from it, recoiling as if from something profoundly profane.
"It's worse than I thought," she said, her voice a low, grim whisper that cut through the silence. "It doesn't just block magic; it's a parasite. It leeches arcane energy from its surroundings, but it specifically targets inherited or blood-bound power. It seeks the connection between a wielder and their source and severs it. A few more minutes in its field, Don, and your connection to the flame might have been… permanently muted."
The word 'muted' hung in the air, a chillingly sterile term for what would have been the death of a part of his soul. Don thought of the gnawing emptiness he'd felt in the tomb, the silence where a fire had once burned. It wasn't just weakness; it was a profound loss of self.
Dvrik's hand tightened on the axe at his belt, his knuckles white. "That snake-tongued Prince knew exactly what he was sending you to. This is our proof. We can expose him."
"To whom?" Don countered, his gaze fixed on the malevolent stone. "The King? We have no proof Strelm knew what this artifact did. It would be our word against the Crown Prince's. We would be branded as liars and traitors for making such an accusation." He knew they had survived the battle, but the war had just shifted to a new, more dangerous phase, one fought not with steel but with whispers.
As if to confirm his thoughts, Strelm's new strategy began to unfold the very next day. There were no more direct missions. Instead, Don was summoned to a tedious review of the Royal Shadow Hunters' charter. For the next week, Strelm buried them in a mountain of bureaucracy. He demanded exhaustive, mind-numbing reports on their previous activities, questioned their every expense, and denied their requests for resources to investigate real threats on the border.
The Prince's masterstroke was the triviality of the tasks he assigned. One morning, Don's unit—forged to hunt the Pale Wraith—was dispatched to the palace kitchens to investigate "reports of a spectral rat." They spent hours chasing down what turned out to be a normal rodent that had startled a cook. It was a calculated humiliation, designed to neuter them through procedure and mock their purpose. Don endured it with a calm that infuriated Strelm more than any outburst could have, but the frustration within his team was palpable.
Simultaneously, a new narrative took root in the fertile soil of courtly gossip. In the royal gardens, Strelm was seen speaking with two influential lords from the midlands, his voice laced with feigned concern. "A pity the guardians of the Weeping Sepulcher were destroyed before they could be properly studied," he mused, loud enough for others to overhear. "Lord Adraels has a remarkable talent for finding these relics, doesn't he? One must wonder what his private collection looks like."
The whispers spread like a virus. Don was no longer the hero who saved the Grand Scriptor; he was a "relic hunter," a power-hungry southern lord fabricating threats to seize dangerous artifacts for himself.
While Strelm focused on this war of whispers, Leinara hunted in the shadows. Her investigation into the Queen's network bore fruit. Her team had identified the spice merchant who acted as a go-between. After days of patient surveillance from rooftops overlooking the chaotic market, they saw their chance. The merchant was meeting with the Queen's gardener near the western gate. As the gardener turned to leave, one of Leinara's hunters "accidentally" overturned a cart of apples, creating a moment of chaos. In the confusion, Leinara, cloaked and anonymous in the crowd, deftly lifted the small, coded scroll from the gardener's satchel. The entire exchange was over in seconds.
They gathered again in their quarters that night, the doors sealed, the air thick with anticipation. Caria unrolled the small scroll. It was covered in a complex cipher used by the Queen's elite, designed to be magically shielded.
"This will take a moment," Caria warned. She laid her hands on the parchment, her eyes closing as silver runes flickered at her fingertips. The air crackled faintly. For a long minute, she was perfectly still, her brow beaded with sweat as she fought through the magical wards protecting the message. Finally, her eyes snapped open, wide with shock.
"This is not a list of targets," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "It's a financial ledger."
She quickly transcribed the decrypted message. The room was utterly silent as she read the contents aloud.
"'Payment to the Bronze Gryphon Company, for services rendered on the Tidor border.' They're mercenaries," Dvrik growled.
Caria continued, her voice growing more strained. "'Transfer to the Wavecrest Shipping Guild for 'agricultural transport' to the south.' That guild is a known front for weapon smugglers."
She read off three more transactions, each one a nail in the Queen's coffin. The ledger detailed a series of clandestine payments from a forgotten royal treasury account—one controlled by the Queen's family for generations—to shell corporations that funneled gold, weapons, and supplies directly to Earl Tidor's war effort.
The vial of poison had been proof of a plot against a single man. This… this was proof of high treason against the entire realm. It was irrefutable evidence that Queen Yssara was actively funding the very armies attacking her own kingdom.
Don stared at the ledger, the weight of the knowledge settling upon him like a physical shroud. This was the weapon that could destroy the royal house, expose the rot at the heart of the Crown, and end the game. But to use it was a monumental risk. Showing it to King Medveick might force him to suppress it to prevent the kingdom from shattering. Leaking it to the other houses would ignite the very civil war he was trying to prevent.
The gilded leash was gone. The cold war with Strelm suddenly seemed a petty squabble. In his hand, Don now held a truth so powerful it could either be the realm's salvation or its ruin. And he had no idea what to do with it.